The Wild Bunch

THE WILD BUNCH                  C+                  

USA  (134 mi)  1969  ‘Scope  d:  Sam Peckinpah     1995  re-release (145 mi) 

I wouldn’t have it any other way.       —Pike Bishop (William Holden)

Law and order and grace and understanding are things that have to be taught. … People are born to survive. They have instincts that go back millions of years. Unfortunately, some of those instincts are based on violence. There is a great streak of violence in every human being. If it is not channeled and understood, it will break out in war or in madness. … [The children’s torture of ants and scorpions at the beginning of the film is] an ugly game, but it’s a game children play—unless they’re taught different. They would have had to be taught not to play that game. And man was a killer millions of years before he served a God.

—Sam Peckinpah, interviewed by Aljean Harmetz, The New York Times, 1969

I suppose I’m something of an outlaw myself. I identify with them. I’ve always wondered what happened to the outlaws of the old West when it changed.
—Sam Peckinpah

A film that has the feel of a death march all the way through, as the old ways refuse to give way to the new, and one of Peckinpah’s most prominent themes is given full display, as the last of a dying breed from the old West decides to hold out for just one more score, bringing a dramatic end to an era, one that Peckinpah choreographs with an exclamation point of unfettered violence.  This sets the precedent for others to follow, namely Quintin Tarantino, though it should be noted that all of Eastwood’s Sergio Leone films preceded this one, certainly two directors that play the violence card as others play with emotions.  What distinguishes this film is the make of the lead pack of outlaws, the last of the holdouts, as they are anything but noble characters, despite the director’s best intentions to persuade the audience to identify with them.  What they bring is a ruthless brutality of unmended souls, all broken in some capacity, like the walking wounded, who live their lives bringing nothing but death and hardship to others while they have exactly what to show for it?  Drinking and whoring apparently, which is all they ever do in their free time, basically wasting their lives away at the expense of others.  These men don’t give a damn about the civilized world, because all they see from it is a mercenary corps of armed goons that the railroad sends out to kill them.  Other than that, they’re used to taking what they want without asking.  But the real problem with this film, as it is with Tarantino, is the blatant use of stereotypes to demean entire groups of people, women as whores, Indians, Mexicans, soldiers, Generals, Germans, railroad workers, gutter trash, as one character calls poor uneducated whites, all portrayed in such negative light that it’s easy to think they all get just exactly what they deserve, because they’re worthless to begin with.  THE WILD BUNCH is tragically flawed in this respect.  Who wouldn’t rather be an ignoble outlaw to get away from such a pathetic depiction of society? 

William Holden as Pike Bishop leads the Bunch, one of his better roles, a man who gives direct orders and accepts no back talk, yet in quiet moments reflects upon everything that went wrong in his life.  Ernest Borgnine is Dutch Engstrom, his right hand man, a man always itching for a fight, yet in some ways the more sexually restrained and morally evolved of the group, a guy who laughs in the face of adversity, while Warren Oates and Ben Johnson play a tag team act of whiners and complainers, the low men on the totem pole, always jawing about something, thinking somebody’s always cheating them, that they’re not getting their fair share, while Jaime Sánchez as Angel is the dreamer, the believer in social justice, the man in the corner gently strumming the guitar and singing Mexican ballads.  The unknown factor is Robert Ryan as Deke Thornton, initially a member of the Bunch until he was left behind in a whorehouse one night when it was raided by the cops, ultimately sent to jail, where the railroad is pulling him out on a 30 day lease in order to track down his old gang, and the guy is persistent, following the escaping Wild Bunch like those unseen trackers “Who are those guys?” from BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID (1969), released the same year, and a film this in some ways defies, yet resembles in the final sequence.  Renowned for its editing, where editor Lou Lombardo claims there were "3642 individual cuts in the film," six times more than a standard picture, yet one of the more distinguishable edits ended up on the cutting room floor, as the flashbacks were initially seamless, using straight cuts, but since this had never been done before, the edits were revised by the studio heads into dissolves so the audience could tell it was a flashback.  The film opens with a robbery gone wrong, where more people get shot in a single sequence than many viewers will see in an entire year.  But this is a set up, as in town, led by Deke, they were waiting for them and made suckers out of them, filling the money bags full of worthless washers.  The honor among thieves is displayed when one of their wounded is hurt so bad he is shot by their own men to put him out of his misery rather than slow them down, and don’t even think about a burial.   

Despite their criminality, the bunch is seen as striving to be human, where the characters are well-defined and the dialogue is crisp and often amusing.  They may be a rag tag group but they think they abide by a sense of honor through loyalty, as jaded as that may appear to be.  This is the film’s centerpiece, however, the glue that holds them together, the purpose that separates them from becoming animals, and yet this is the most glaring betrayal of all, as they end up leaving Angel behind for the sadistic amusement and pleasure of a two-bit Mexican General who does business with the Bunch, but singles him out as a thief, betrayed by a woman, leaving Borgnine in a state of paralysis, as it’s either get shot or leave him behind.  When they go in after him, more to evade the railroad trackers than out of any loyalty to Angel, they act surprised at the inhuman treatment on display, as he’s being gruesomely tortured in front of the entire town, no different than a lynching or a public hanging.  This sacrifice of one of their own has a way of humiliating them, eating at their already corrupt souls, and it leads to the final set piece, known for its mix of standard speed and slow-motion, often thought of as ballet-like in its depiction of human slaughter, a kind of nihilist memoriam that has come to typify the senseless violence portrayed in standard Hollywood movies of today, from invading aliens or zombies or just plain bad guys who need to be pulverized out of existence.  American audiences in particular have become used to seeing hundreds of deaths in a matter of seconds, where life itself has lost all worth or meaning.  The exaggerated laughter in this film, because it is so insincere, is as distasteful as the use of violence, as it’s used like a Greek chorus to comment upon the human theater.  The barren wasteland depicted at the end of the film with villagers carrying out the dead and wounded as well as looters taking whatever they can is a fairly accurate portrait of the moral void left behind.

Post Addendum:

I guess there are books written, generations of admirers, and careers established by advancing the artistic merits of Peckinpah, someone I happen to admire myself, but not as a fanboy.  The Wild Bunch has always been a troublesome film for me, and yes, one should look at the artistic expression of a tormented soul.  At the risk of being thrown off this site for cinema sacrilege, I also have the same trouble with Tarantino, whose body count is legendary, who is more of a copycat stylist, adding his own stamp of personality upon the originality of others.  Well, you know, one could say the same of Mozart, who simply used traditional means of expression and improved upon them without revolutionizing the artform.  Peckinpah is placed in the pantheon of revolutionaries for his near ballet-like depiction of massive and grotesque violence in Wild Bunch, leading to other similar stylists like Tarantino or John Woo, but I find that misleading, preferring to think Bonnie and Clyde (two years earlier), not to mention Eastwood in the entire Sergio Leone Western series, were much more radically ahead of their time, and not nearly so miserablist in spirit. 

Thinking back, it is amazing that this miserablism and downright defeatism was right on the heels of some of the most radically inspirational thinking this country has ever seen.  Forget how they were infiltrated and obliterated, but the ferocity of spirit and sheer audacity in the formation of the Black Panthers is beyond description using today’s mentality.  How do you explain that to your grandkids?  And we put a man on the moon the same year this film was released, but there were also plenty of arrests, unending police brutality, and political assassinations  Certainly that era is known for having higher ups and lower lows, and Peckinpah seemed to relish the stupor that misery brings, a state of mind not uncommon with returning veterans, as they’ve seen horrible things no one on earth should have to see, and they have to find a way to live with it, continually having to deal with flashbacks swirling around their head.  So that may at least partially explain Peckinpah’s personal demeanor, as his alcoholism and drug use didn’t start out of thin air.  So the question is, how does this translate to his movies?   

Some of Peckinpah’s films and characterizations are amazingly tender, but what of the misfits in Wild Bunch, cold blooded murderers every one?  I read that people sympathize with them, but after seeing them shoot in cold blood one of their own, that would be impossible for some. And perhaps that's the line of demarcation.  These men are without redemption, yet all of Peckinpah's dialogue and attention to detail goes into the creation of these characters, who are extremely well developed, while the railroad men and townsfolk are all stock characters, largely portrayed as buffoons. Part of what really bugs me is his use of stereotypical and lazy portrayals of the townsfolk, which seems cruelly comical, as it’s not so funny.  In fact it’s vulgar and insulting, no different than demonizing, which reflects, I suppose, the state of mind of the outlaws.  But I’m inclined to attribute that laziness to Peckinpah, as everyone else in the film is equally revolting, while the Bunch are portrayed as heroically fighting to retain their independence, stubbornly refusing to give it up, even against all odds, and eventually, without really considering their options, accept suicide as an acceptable state of mind.  So in the end, there’s no ideals, no heart, nothing to live and strive for, we're all just revolting creatures?  And this is a time honored masterpiece?  I'll stick with Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai, which is a joy to watch, and is all about heart and human sacrifice, but the defeatist miserablism of The Wild Bunch really leaves me cold.